a serious hope sundae.

November 6, 2011

There is this blog that I lurk. Lurking by definition, for those of you who may be doing so right now, is to read a blog regularly while leaving no evidence of having done so. I check in, follow their lives closely (in whatever manner she has so chosen in any given post), and then leave without giving any notice of my existence or feeling on what I have just read.

i.e. I lurk.

In months past, as they began the nail biting joy of a new adoption process only to have it collapse around them, Katie posted about this brilliant concept of buying a beautiful pair of red shoes to wear while she found her foot hold (no puns allowed).

I loved it, but had forgotten all about it.

But then tonight, my sister in law Kelli came over. All week she has kept the wine bottle chilled and an ear open, ready to listen whenever I randomly became the kind of person who talks about exactly how she is feeling the minute she is feeling it. So far, all I have been able to graciously accept was the wine.

But tonight, she came bearing many gifts. The company of her beautiful family. A few heavy bags full of Taco Bell. And these:

Needless to say, I had been having a hard week. Several friends have come, seeking to be an open ear. Asking me questions I couldn’t answer. And every time, I felt this instinctual need to say “blah blah blah….but I know that with time, we’ll be fine” or “…but, everything will be better soon.” And I don’t know why I keep saying “but…”.

We all know “but” is true. We’ve all lived long enough to know that if life has caused you pain, and of course it has, it inevitably dulls with minutes and hours and years. Maybe not as quickly as we like, but it does. So who am I reminding with every “but” I’ve doled out this week? I’m really not sure.

All I know is that I feel better while wearing these shoes. I know that I have a hope, not because they are purple or tall or open toed. I have hope because when all seems to be falling down, I look to the hills and ask the question and the answer is always, “My help comes from the LORD” (psalms 121).

A descent sister in law, a bottle of wine and copious amounts of junk food are just cherries on top of a serious hope sundae.

Why does she post with my picture? She should get her own picture. I have 30 pictures of her for every 1 picture of me … and still she uses mIne. What the … I don’t even look like that anymore. I’m dumpier and grayer. Older and yet not wiser. This is just not right.